


Honey Sweet, Raspberry Tart

by xiggystardust



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ambiguous Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Chronic Pain, Other, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25948777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiggystardust/pseuds/xiggystardust
Summary: SPOILERS FOR PATCH 5.3You promised to take G'raha on the adventure he dreamed of as a boy. Unfortunately, it seems the Echo has other plans.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Reader, G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 7
Kudos: 66





	Honey Sweet, Raspberry Tart

**Author's Note:**

> SO PATCH 5.3 AMIRITE?
> 
> The ending was so good it inspired me to finally write a fanfic. My first in almost 2 years. This fic will have a plot outside the romance, but I thought it pertinent to start with this chapter first. It's something I really wish the game let us see. 
> 
> With regards to future chapters, the mystery is part of the fun but I will say that the WoL's experiences going forward are inspired by my own experiences as someone living with chronic illness. It's sort of odd to write it in 2nd person when I know many of my readers probably aren't disabled in the particular way that I am, but I hope nothing gets lost in translation and that you enjoy the story now and later!
> 
> Thank you for reading!

The sound of boots and armor echo throughout the vast empty of the Crystal Tower. Your feet hit the ground with such force you think the tile on the floor might crack but it doesn’t matter. Doors open for you with ease and though the air burns in your lungs you do not find it within yourself to stop until you see him.

G’raha Tia, untouched by time, lay in a deep slumber in a small room off the side of what you’ve called the Ocular for so long. You collapse to your knees before him, scattering papers and piles of books. You hardly notice when your armor scrapes the floor, preoccupied as you are with looking for signs of something wrong. 

The urge to take him into your arms and shake him gently awake comes broiled in anxiety deep within your gut. It tells you how easy it would be to bypass all this risk, to simply explain to him what he had done and that he no longer has to do it. And wouldn’t he believe you? You opened the front door, after all.

But he wouldn’t understand, not really, the moments you shared. You would lose your friend forever, that version of him you so cherished. And this, you decide, you cannot bear. So you place G’raha’s vessel within his hands and take from him a more innocent life.

Moments pass like hours. The vessel glows within his loose grasp. You feel as though you cannot blink or you will miss some important moment, good or bad. After a time, you place your hand upon his shoulder and whisper his name. Three times you whisper, soft and afraid. You will him to wake. He  _ must  _ wake.

“G’raha,” your voice cracks beneath the strain of tears unshed, “you will wake. You will open your eyes and walk out of those doors and face the day.”

You do not know if you should say your plea to the vessel which bores him here, or to the body he must move into. You do not know if your plea is a plea at all or a prayer to the Twelve. If you could reach Hydaelyn for help, you would. But you can’t. You know this, so you sit with your hand on his shoulder, until the light in the vessel goes out.

G’raha’s eyes flutter open. He blinks, no doubt trying to focus his vision, and lifts his hand to rub the sleep from his eyes. He stops upon spotting the thing which brought him from the First. His brows furrow, creasing the skin between them. You hold your breath, sure that everything has gone wrong. Sure that your friend is gone--here and alive, but not the same. The crystalline vessel clatters onto the floor and its sound startles you from your downward spiral and your hand from his shoulder. You watch G’raha intensely for proof of his condition. He opens and closes his fist multiple times. You laugh and your tears flow at once.

“My friend,” G’raha says, “what a wonderful sound that is.”

“Are you teasing me?” You wipe at your tears, ashamed that your indignity had to be the first thing he sees.

“No more than you’re certainly teasing me.” G’raha lifts himself into a sitting position. He stretches, gazing upon his arms all the while. He opens and closes his hand again, then the other. “I had forgotten what it felt like to be whole.”

“And what  _ does _ it feel like?”

He levels you with a smile bigger than any which graced his features in the First. “Rather cold, if I’m being honest.”

You laugh again, louder this time. The Scions had warned you again and again that bringing the Exarch to the Source could be a mistake. They passed hope around like its touch burned their fingertips. You don’t know which storybook’s fairytale ending you stumbled into, but euphoria bubbles in your chest. Unbidden, your limbs move. You wrap your arms around G’raha as you had wanted to before and you squeeze. You relish the feel of flesh over crystal.

“Welcome home.” You tell him. “There are so many things I want to show you.”

His arms find their way around your back. He returns your squeeze. “Show me. I am eager to see you beneath a blue sky.”

You help him stand up. He leans on you at first. With one of his arms around your shoulder and one of yours about his waist, the two of you walk through rooms both foreign and familiar. You push the tower’s doors open again but G’raha is the first to step onto the barren region of Mor Dhona. Though it is nothing to gawk at, his mouth falls open.

“Do you remember it?” You ask. “This place, at this time?”

“I thought I wouldn’t.” G’raha’s tone is laced with wonder, like a boy who has discovered woods in his backyard. “But I do. I do.”

He removes himself from you, eager to find his footing. He finds it quick and runs. Slow and awkward at first, then faster as he becomes accustomed to his old body. You chase him, calling his name while he rushes to every corner, nostalgia thick in his veins.

Perhaps it is not your adventure that he is embarking on, but an adventure of his own.

There is no greater gift you could give him.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, seriously thank you. It means a lot to me.
> 
> When I upload the next chapter, I will have an upload schedule! I'm aiming for every sunday at 1 am EST but we'll see. Again, thank you!


End file.
